Call of the Wolf
by wolfvonbiele93
Summary: What if, in S2E17, "Heart," Sam and Dean were bitten? How would that change their relationship and what URGES would the wolf feel compelled to satisfy?
1. Chapter 1

Ok, I got this idea when Dean says that the wolf who had attacked Madison had been trying to get a little breeding action. Hope you guys like it!

Summary: What if, in S2E17, Heart, Sam and Dean were bitten? How would that effect their realtionship, and what..._urges_ would the wolf in them feel compelled to satisfy?

Sam turns to Madison, startled. Her eyes, now golden and slitted, full of a cold, unnatural fury, narrow at him. He stumbles back away from her, trying to get as far from her as possible. She lunges for him, grasping at his shirt. He falls to the ground, landing on his side. He tries to kick her off, but she was too fast. She smacks at him, her nails gashing his cheek. He cries out in pain. The scent of blood seemed to send her into a frenzy. She snaps at him, barely grazing his shoulder. He presses his hand against the wound as he kicks out at her blindly. It lands on her stomach, winding the werewolf. She falls back away. She shakes her head as if to catch her senses and then swings her hungry gaze to him.

Suddenly, sweet, independent Madison turns all predator, crouching low as all her senses go on alert. Her head tilts at him as her eyes rake over his body, almost appreciatively. He wasn't given time to be freaked out as she attacks just after, sending them straight to the floor. Sam brings his hands up to fight, but she wraps her clawed hands around him and pins his wrists to the floor. He tries to buck her off, but to his surprise, she pushes back, almost rubbing against him. He groans, embarrassed that he was responding, but then a flare of pain near his neck ruined his erection. Madison's head was tilted against his neck, her teeth sunk in the soft skin.

He tries to struggle, but she holds him down with her strength. He could feel himself getting sleepy, and his mind tried to fight it; he couldn't fall a sleep now, with a werewolf sitting on his chest! He could also feel her pushing against him again, probably trying to get the same reaction out of him, but he was too sleepy to respond. He hears her growl and he utters a sharp cry as her nails rake along his chest.

He tries to do something, anything, to stop her. His fingers twitch toward his pants, feeling the bulge of his loaded gun resting against his thigh. He pushes his hand into the pocket, pushing back to distract her. She makes a soft sound, almost a purr, and pushes happily against him.

He suddenly swings out at her head; the gun makes a solid smack when it lands and she yelps in pain. Her body flies off him and rolls slightly. She tries to stand, but the hit had knocked off her balance and he could tell he had made her bleed. He hated that he had to pistol whip her, but it was his only hope. She turns her enraged eyes to him, snarling and baring her teeth sluggishly.

She pulls herself onto unsteady feet and Sam raises his gun, aiming straight between her eyes, executions style. She lunges toward him, and he winces.

"Sorry." He whispers shakily and pulls the trigger. He had closed his eyes when he heard the loud crack, but he knew his hand was steady. Years of training forced him to be a near perfect shooter. He slowly peaks through his lashes at the damage. She lies before him, sprawled out, her eyes wide open and human; they were milky and glazed. A perfect bullet-hole sits in the middle of her forehead with blood oozing out; as he expected, perfect shot. She had died instantly. At least he had the solace that she had not suffered.

Tears mar his vision and he blinks them back; they sting the back of his eyes. He lays his head back and slumps wearily down, too emotionally and physically drained to move. His adrenaline rush was gone and his body felt like lead. His heavy lids flutter closed and he succumbs to sleep.

He would deal with Dean in the morning.

Dean's breath comes out in short pants as he tries to find an advantageous place to fight. The werewolf had heard him coming before he had been able to get the drop on the wolfy sonuvabitch. He had already taken out the poor prostitute, her body mangled and mutilated. He felt kind of bad about it, but he couldn't let her death weigh him down, not now.

He could hear the wolf huffing behind him, trying to the catch up. He wouldn't be able to outrun him and he couldn't keep up the chase for long. The wolf would get annoyed and more violent and his body would eventually give out.

A sharp, bone-chilling howl sounds from behind him, and suddenly he was acquainted with the dirty alley floor, a heavy weight on his back. Nails rip at his clothes and nick him in his right shoulder. He bucks backward to throw him off – which works – and flips them over. He pushes the wolf down by his neck, trying to strangle him. The guy weighed much more than him – the beer belly was a bitch – but, with his fingers squeezing his Adam's apple, he couldn't really do anything except snap his jaws at Dean's throat.

However, Dean forgot about his claws, and a sudden pain erupts in his temple. The bastard had swiped up with his claws at the ready, scratching along the right side of his face. His grip falls lax and he was pushed roughly into the pavement. His need to survive made him wriggle almost embarrassingly, but it was serving two purposes: keeping the wolf from being able to bite down and allowing him find the gun he had never gotten to draw.

He cries out again as his shoulder erupts in pain, and he had to stop, his shoulder numb. He didn't think he could move it. It twists his neck to see what it was, and he could feel cold fear swell in him – the man was _biting_ his shoulder. The fear takes over and he smacks up at him. The wolf howls in anger and pain, as Dean had added a little nail to his slap – pay back was a bitch too. His hit, born from adrenaline, had thrown him off. Just as the wolf came toward him, his good hand had brushed against the handle of the gun.

A loud smack of a gun rings throughout the alley. The werewolf – now a human – stumbles back, his eyes full of pure shock. He drops to his knees and then to the floor, blood running down his chin and pooling around him. Dean leans wearily back against the wall, sleep tinging his vision black. His head lolls to the side, his eyes rolling back in his sockets.

He could hear the gurgling sound of life leaving the other man, and he could only think of one thing.

_Take it, bitch._

Darkness hits him seconds later.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean groans and rolls over onto his side. His muscles ached, but it was just a dull throb in the back of his senses. He pushes himself into a sitting position, glancing around as he blinks away sleep. A nasty scent reaches his nose and he turns to the right, only to recoil in disgust. Beside him was the body of the werewolf from the night before. He presses his forearm against his nose and mouth to block out the scent and to keep from puking all over his boots.

He needed to get out of here and find Sammy.

He scrambles up and away from the body and the coagulating blood, backtracking to where he had stashed his Baby. He spots the shiny black hood of the Impala and practically runs to the familiar vehicle. Thank God some things never changed.

He slips into the driver's seat with practiced ease and starts it up, the engine purring beautifully. Metallica blasts out of the speakers when it roars to life and Dean leans back thankfully into the leather seats. He drives as fast as he can, his other foot bouncing – he had no idea what to expect, but he knew that whatever Sam had to say, he would make him shoot him, no matter what. He couldn't go around knowing that he was the reason some people were dying because of him.

However, despite his conviction to have Sam do the deed, he was still going to put off calling him…for just a little while. He'd rather not have to tell his brother that he was one of the hairy little bastards they had been hunting since they were old enough to go with dad on a trip. Call him a coward, call him selfish, whatever, but he'd rather live for just a little while longer. He would tell, yes, but in person would be best.

The ride to Madison's house was quick and he swings the Impala up to the side, behind, but not beneath, the tree in the front. He wouldn't want to get anything on her. He was up the steps a lot faster than he expected and he raises his hand to the knob and then retrieves it, the same fear inside him rushing back at full force. Damn it, he really needed to just get this over with. He exhales loudly and opens the door like one would a band-aid – as fast as possible so he couldn't wimp out.

"Sammy?" he calls out. No one answers. "Sam!" he calls. Shit, he hoped Madison hadn't done anything. He rushes into the room, to see his brother slumped up against the wall. Madison's prone form is sprawled near him, a perfect bullet hole in her forehead. He leans over her, tilting his head to make sure she was out. Yep, she was definitely dead. He leaves his perusal of the wolf and crouches in front of Sam to check his vitals. Thankfully, his chest rises and falls steadily, and he could feel a steady stream of air coming out of Sam's nose when he put the back of his hand beneath it. Dean relaxes onto his haunches.

"Hey, Sammy." No answer. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty." He pats the youngest Winchester on the cheek and thankfully Sam stirs and utters a soft groan. He rolls his body toward Dean and blinks open weary eyes.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Sammy. Get up." He gently grabs his arm and yanks him up on unsteady feet. Sam stumbles onto his feet. His hand reaches out to grab the first thing he could reach for balance — his shoulder, the bloody one. Dean was surprised that the ache was gone.

"Dean…you're shoulder?" Dean ignores the comment and moves him to a chair, setting him down. "Dean." He says more firmly. Dean glances up to be hit by Sam's puppy dog eyes. He rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"You're not looking so good yourself." Dean Winchester did not _do _chick flick moments, and he wasn't going to stare into Sammy's eyes and tell him how happy he was that Sam was okay, and that everything was going to be alright. Because, it _wasn't_. Not when he told Sam the truth. He brushes his hand over his brother's shoulder for a moment, hoping that was enough of a replacement. Sam winces slightly, whether in embarrassment or pain, he wasn't sure. Dean plops himself into the chair across from him, the one Madison had occupied the night before. He looks around to find something to talk about and his eyes land on the dead werewolf.

"So, Madison, she-"

"Yeah."

"Did she-?"

"…y-yeah." he whispers. Dean's gaze snaps to him in surprise. Well, there goes his ticket out. He was embarrassed when he felt relief sweep through him. He shouldn't be relieved that Sam had to go through the same hell as him; that his own brother wouldn't have to kill him. Because, damn, that was just fucked up. He looks up to see that Sam's head was tilted down. He looked scared, defeated; ready for the worst. Might as well ease his mood, anyway.

"Damn, we're screwed." He rubs his hand down his face in annoyance.

"We?" Sam was looking at him again, which was good. "Were you bitten?"

"Yeah, her maker got the jump on me." Sam's eyes widen in surprise and almost…fear.

"Dean…what do we do now?"

"Go home; sleep; see if we kill anyone." Sam scoffs at his nonchalant way of putting it; just like him to be so uncaring about this. He leans forward, intent – as usual – to knock some sense into his brother's thick skull.

"Don't you even care that we just killed two people, who had no idea what was happening? Or that we could be killing innocents ourselves tonight?"

"Listen, Sammy, the lunar cycle's almost over; we only have to wait out another night before we start looking for a cure." Or someone to put a bullet through their skulls.

"Damnit, Dean; I have no idea how you can be so cavalier about everything." He shakes his head and rubs his temple; a headache was coming on.

"Shut up and help me get rid of our fingerprints, college boy." Sam sighs and throws himself up from the chair, surprised when he didn't feel very much pain. He was pretty sure Madison had done a number on his chest and cheek. He rubs his hand over them only to feel nothing but ripped clothes and smooth skin. He shrugs, figuring it had something to do with the whole werewolf thing and starts to help his brother wipe the room of their prints. It would look really bad if someone came in and saw a chair with ripped ropes and a woman with a bullet hole in her forehead. Coupled with evidence that a dead man and a missing college student had been here, the cops would have a field day.

He tried to keep his gaze away from the prone girl, but he could not do so for long. He found his gaze drawn to her like a magnet. She looked so...open and fragile. Her milky eyes are wide with shock and the poor woman had been through so much, at first for the better, but what had been the reason for her confidence boost ultimately led to her demise. Such a shame, really. Another innocent was dead because of a hairy fugly. It pissed him off.

The strange thing was the attraction that had been there before was gone. He could appreciate that she was an attractive woman, but there was no burn at the edges of his senses, no sudden rush of fire in his veins. Strange, and not a small bit freaky. Shaking his head, he pushes his mind back to the task at hand.

He stops to grab a rag from the bathroom and takes to wiping off the evidence of him from the ropes and chair, as well as along her wrists and ankles. He slips the small form of the young woman into his arms and out of the way, so he could clean up the blood that was pooling on the linoleum floor.

"What are you doin'?" he turns to look into the surprised greenish hazel eyes of his brother.

"Getting her out of the way and ready for a burial." Dean raises a brow. "It's the least we could do, Dean; she deserves some sort of burial." Dean snorts but makes no other protest. The two of them work as a team to rough the place up a little more; knocking over more chairs and making it look like she was kidnapped. The scratch marks along the walls went nicely with the staged scene.

Dean steps back to survey their work with a smug smile.

"Not too shabby, huh, Sammy?" Sam rolls his eyes at his brother.

"Yeah, Dean; it seems we have a talent for faking kidnapping." He scoops Madison up to leave. "Grab our stuff while I take Madison out to the car." Dean waves him off and on that note Sam leaves. He peaks his head out of the door to see if anyone was there, and thankfully the foggy streets were empty. All of the cars of Madison's neighbors were gone and the sun had just peaked out from the horizon. It couldn't be more than 6:00 in the morning, if dawn was just coming. He pulls the collar of his jacket up to ward off the chill and slips out of the door with Madison secure in his arms. As long as he kept his head down, no one watching would be able to see through the curtain of hair that fell to his eyes. Thank god he had never gotten his hair cut shorter like his dad had wanted (1). No one bothered him on the way to car, or even when he was pushing Madison into the back seat. No one bothered him when he casually threw a blanket over Madison, closed the door, turned around and walked back into Madison's apartment, as if he belonged here as much as anyone else that walked by. His skill with acting like he hadn't just killed a young woman and stashed her body in their car was scary even to him.

"Dean?" he calls as he walks into the foyer. Some rustling, and then nothing. "Dean, answer me." He walks around the corner to find Dean shouldering their duffel bag. Dean turns to him with a smirk.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, princess; I'm comin'." He walks to Sam and pats his shoulder. Something electrical passes through them and they snap their gazes to one another. Dean's eyes actually showed what he was feeling; confusion; fear; a strange sense of pleasure that worried Sam. He knew his gaze mirrored Dean's and that didn't help ease any of the strange emotions that wallowed in his chest, manifesting as a pit in his stomach.

Dean was the first to break away and he yanks his hand back as if he had been burned. _No chick flick moments_, he scolds himself. He kept walking toward the car, not looking back, not making the same connection again. He could feel Sam's eyes follow him as he went, and he could almost imagine his brows furrowed in confusion and his eyes dark worry for him. Something deep within him growled _cute _at the mental image, and he just as roughly growled_ shut the hell up_ right back at it – him. Whatever. He was out the door and clambering down the steps when he heard Sam finally follow him. Neither brother said anything as they walked to the car. This time, Dean and Sam were also not bothered by anyone, and they slide into the car – neither sparing a glance to Madison on purpose – and they drive off.

Familiar tunes come from the speakers and both of the Winchesters relax. The tension was suddenly gone as they clung to the familiarity, and Sam finally got some courage to talk.

"Where do you think we should take Madison?" Dean tilts his head and glances out of his review mirror as another car – a Ford F150 with big ass wheels and a pissed off driver to match – slides in behind him. He could tell the dude was trying to muscle his way past Dean, but Dean Winchester never backed down. And besides, his Baby could take that tricked out redneck-mobile any day.

"Are there any cemeteries nearby?"

"Dean, we're not gonna find an open grave in a cemetery."

"Well, then, why don't we find some forest or something and bury her there?"

"Alright, let me get the map." He sighs. He yanks it out of the glove compartment, and folds the massive thing out on the dash and his lap.

Suddenly something large lands on the hood with a loud thump. Dean swerves with a curse. He pulls the car to a dead stop on the shoulder.

"What the hell was that?" Sam gasps as he yanks the map from his line of sight. There was nothing but a lump on the side of the road.

"Let me go check it out." Dean exits the car and pulls out a gun, cocking it and looking back and forth to check it out. He bends down and pokes the thing with his gun. It doesn't move so he deemed it okay to flip it over. It was a man, rough and dirty, who looked like he hadn't seen a nice shelter or a good meal in years. Damn, he had just run over a hobo. Great. He sighs and stands to talk to Sam. He shrugs in answer to the expectant look.

"I think it's just-"

"Dean! Look out!" Sam screams. He watched in slow motion as the thing rose up from the ground so fast that it looked like it didn't really move. It was just down one minute and up the next. Dean turns at his cry and stares at the guy with a shocked expression. Hadn't he just run him over? When he finally got the sense to aim his gun, the thing attacked him and sent them both toppling to the ground. Dean's head smacks loudly against the pavement, and a far off crack followed. He felt the gun in his hand kick violently and then a loud screech of pain. He head Sam leaving the car and running to him, but he felt that his consciousness was slipping again.

"S-sam…" he gasps softly before everything went black.

"Dean!" Sam cries in surprise and rushes to his brother's side. Dean was unconscious and there was blood around his head. At least the thing that attacked him was writhing in pain. Dean had had enough sense to pack a gun with silver bullets, thank god. Something rustles behind him and he turns abruptly toward the noise. He body pushes protectively over Dean, and a warning growl comes unbidden from his throat. He didn't have enough time to think his reaction through. he looks up into hellish golden eyes – not like Azazel's but creepy all the same.

"Goodnight, pup; sweet dreams." A growling baritone purr comes from the thing with those eyes and something hard falls down on the side of his head. Sam cries out in pain before slumping down over Dean, his eyes fluttering closed.

The thing smiles down at the pair. They would be very useful…he shoots a disdainful look at his brother writhing on the pavement. How he hated the brothers that fate gave him, but at least he could have fun with these two. He rolls back his shoulders and tilts his head back. A deep, eerie howl reverberates through his throat. Birds flutter in their nests and fly away; animals beneath the underbrush scatter back to their dens and homes. All life seemed to freeze and no sound in the forest could be heard. They knew there was a predator in their midst.

He smiles. With that done, his brothers and sisters were coming.

A strange scent hits him just then. There was the sickly sweet scent of blood and freshly killed meat. Maybe a day old, give or take. He walks around to the black hunk of metal in the road, a far off part of him admiring the workmanship and state of the car, a part of him he'd given up for this new freedom. He looks in through the side window. A black, lumpy bundle was the source. He yanks the door open with a strange strength and the lock crunches and finally snaps under the force. Oh well, so much for that. He pushes his head inside and sniffs the bundle. He yanks the offending fabric away, to see a woman with milky eyes staring back at him. He smiles wickedly. A sister, recently killed. A weak one, no doubt; she'd been killed by the young one. He cocks his head to side, much like a dog and then smiles cruelly.

She would do nicely. His pups hadn't eaten in a while…

Missouri Moseley, although not really, shifts her shoulders back, adjusting to her new found… freedom. This was certainly a different body than what it was used to, but it liked her. Lots of space and the woman had barely fought, having understood her part in fate. She'd had a few choice words for him too, but it had brushed them off. She was locked away anyhow, in her own mind.

It walks Missouri over to the telephone and uses her memories to dial a number, one that would definitely stir things up a bit. Oh how it loved to mess with people, to manipulate their holier than thou attitudes; make them see that they were just as bad as its kind. And with this new found information, it could really up the ante. It could get rid of that pesky Dean and have Sam all for itself, and with the help of their own friends and co workers, no less. The dial tone comes from the little black device and then a gruff voice comes through.

"What is it, Moseley?" Bobby asks.

"Bobby, I think there's something you need to know about the boy's." Missouri sighs in the thick, southern drawl it'd come to love. Another perk of having the old psychic as its vessel. It opens Missouri's eyes to reveal murky yellow irises and no pupils, dancing with mischief.

"What? Is something wrong?"

"Something's wrong alright." Now the real fun would begin. Those Winchesters would learn never to mess with his plans, ever again.

A/N: Okay, yeah, I know; knocking them out two chapters in a row is kinda bad, but it goes with the story! And I know, kinda bad to have Madison eaten, but hey; had to get rid of her somehow, right?

Seems Azazel is not too happy with the new turn of events and wanted to liven things up.

I gotta say, this started out as a Wincest pwp fic, but my plot bunny multiplied and now I have a whole family of them. You can blame whump and angst fanfics for the inspiration. Especially silver ruffian's Dog Eat Dog. Amazing!

No. 1: Am I the only that's noticed that Sam has the longest hair out of all the male hunters? I figured it was just a rebellious thing for Sammy, and so I wanted to add that.


End file.
